


Crooked Lust As Intersection

by whereismygarden



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>20 years before the Icarus project is initiated, Everett Young has a brief encounter with Nicholas Rush. It's not the hook-up he was hoping for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked Lust As Intersection

**Author's Note:**

> I can't resist pretentious titles, please appreciate this one.

**1989:**

                David insists that they go into the city after their second week. “We are fighter pilots in training,” he says sternly. “We are going to get wasted and laid. It’s going to be the easiest thing we’ve ever done.” Both of these sound good to Young, so he decides that the hangover will be worth it, puts a few condoms in his back pocket, and follows David into San Antonio. It’s fucking Friday night, as David says.

                It’s fall, so the streets are packed full of people enjoying slightly less heat than usual, students out to enjoy the end of the week, and a respectable number of folks from base. They get a slight buzz on a few cheap beers at a crowded place, and a girl in a short blue skirt and a white sweater comes to stand next to him, brushing his shoulder with hers. Young smiles at her, and she smiles back.

                “Hey, I’m Jennifer,” she says.

                “Everett,” he responds. “You want a drink?” She nods yes, and smiles more intently at him.

                “So,” he says, wishing he knew what exactly to say to her. “What do you think of this place? I’m new to San Antonio.”

                “Me too,” she replies, taking the beer he bought her and sipping on it. “But this place isn’t half bad.” Young nods his agreement and finishes his beer. It’s only nine, and he has his doubts that anyone is heading in for the night. Jennifer is eyeing several people up and down the bar. David taps him on the shoulder, and scoots up close to him.

                “What are you doing? Are you going to go back to her dorm room? Or are you going to keep her interested in you the whole ride back to base?” Young hasn’t really considered any of these things: it doesn’t take him much effort to get girls to like him or sleep with him, but there are logistical problems to consider. David huffs in his ear. “Find someone who lives nearby, yeah?”

                He manages to say his goodbyes to Jennifer without being too rude, and she pouts a little to see him go, but he can tell it’s mostly insincere.

                “God, man, you’re not in college anymore, college freshmen aren’t your target!” David berates him a little more in the street, and Young lets him, spotting a door with a slower rate of people coming in and out down the road. “College juniors and seniors, yes.”

                “They have boyfriends,” Young says. David just adjusts his jacket and tilts his head cockily.

                “Not when we’re here they don’t,” he says, spreading his hands. Young grins at his brashness, then nods to the bar he’s spotted, and David walks in with him.

                This time, they settle into a table at the wall, and start making eye contact with groups of people who walk in: the trick is to find a group with more girls than guys. It is, as David predicted, almost too easy. He buys a drink for a girl with gorgeous brown eyes and dark hair, noticing that David already has his arm around another woman, who is offering him sips out of her mixed drink every so often. Young is on his seventh or eighth beer of the night, and he slides his arm around the girl, whose name is Gabriela. She’s a San Antonio native, and is telling him excitedly about the summertime festivals.

                “So, even though it’s hotter, nothing slows down here,” she proclaims. “It’s wonderful, there is always something to do.” She buys them a selection of tequila shots when he says he’s from the Midwest.

                “You need to learn how it is in Texas,” she says, winking at him. “Here, it’ll be a challenge. Whoever finishes three shots first wins a kiss.”

                “Only one kiss, for three shots?” he challenges.

                “It has to be a really good kiss,” she says. Young grins broadly at her.

                “In that case, then, okay,” he says.

                “Go!” she proclaims, and he gets the first one pretty easily, though, God, tequila is not the same as anything else he’s drunk, and he doesn’t even like liquor much. The second one goes down with a little more effort, and he sets down the glass to see Gabriela throwing back her final one. She gives him a look from under her dark lashes and smiles prettily. She pushes his final shot towards him, eyes sly. He finishes it without flinching, somehow, and blinks at her.

                “I guess I owe you a really good kiss,” he says. She leans toward him, and he leans forward in turn, placing a kiss, slightly less coordinated than he would like, on her lips. She bites her lip at him, he buys her another drink, and at some point David punches him lightly in the shoulder as he leaves, arm around the waist of a girl with a long sheet of blonde hair. Gabriela allows him to kiss her a few more times, and put his hand on her lower back, under her shirt, but he doesn’t get further than that.

                The tequila must have been stronger than he thought, because he remembers seeing her wave goodbye to him, and then drinking more with some other people, but he’s now sitting in the same bar, next to a long-haired guy who looks distinctly amused. Perhaps he witnessed Young’s utter failure to get anywhere with Gabriela. Young looks at his watch: it’s past eleven, and apparently the last fifteen minutes have just vanished.

                “You don’t have a drink anymore,” the man observes, his words so obscured by an accent Young can barely understand them. He blinks a few times.

                “Uh, no, I don’t.” His beer glass, whatever number it is, is empty. The man catches the waiter’s eyes and orders two of something Young doesn’t catch the name of when he comes over. “Uh, you don’t have to…”

                “You must be in the Air Force.” Young nods confirmation.

                “You’re not,” he says, because he doesn’t think he can provide much conversation at the moment. “The hair gives it away.”

                “And the accent.” The waiter returns with two glasses of whiskey, and the man nods. He’s dressed like a college student, Young thinks, but he looks a little too old: too collected, too confident. “I’m Nicholas,” he offers his hand, and Young shakes it. He tries the whiskey, doesn’t like it, and sips at it anyway. Nicholas drinks it easily and contentedly, eyes lazy. He’s pretty drunk himself, no matter that he’s more talkative than Young. Most people are more talkative than him, even when he’s sober.

                “Everett.” The night is not going so well, and he asks the waiter for a water when he comes by. He wants food, but it’s too late for that. Nicholas seems amused at this, but Young doesn’t care if this guy is laughing at him. “So what are you then?”

                “I’m a postdoc at the University of Texas.” He takes another sip from his whiskey, eyes sliding shut for a moment. In a bizarre moment, Young reflects that his eyes are the same color as his drink.

                “I don’t know what that means, exactly,” Young says, then folds. “Or at all.” He takes another sip of the whiskey. It’s not unbearable.

                “It means that I have a doctorate but not a real job,” Nicholas responds, not seeming surprised at Young’s confusion. Why the hell are they alone at this table, anyway? Probably because he’s too drunk to talk to a girl now. Damn tequila.

                “You’re a doctor?” he asks. Nicholas inclines his head.

                “Not a medical doctor, but yes,” he says. Young sits back.

                “Neat,” he says. Nicholas’s eyes glitter at him. It makes something weird turn over in his stomach, that has nothing to do with the tequila Gabriela bought him.

                “I think so,” he says dryly, then leans forward, over the table, squinting at him. “You’re too drunk to fuck, I think,” he adds, shrugging. Young gapes at him.

                “I’ll be fine in a few minutes, the tequila just threw me for a minute,” he said, trying not to stumble over his words in embarrassment. David is undoubtedly getting laid right this instant. He wishes Gabriela hadn’t been so unimpressed with his lack of tenacity in the face of tequila. He never had the stuff before, and he thinks he never wants it again. “We specifically went out to get laid.” He takes a drink of the water.

                “Well, in that case, I’ll wait,” Nicholas says, and Young feels his whole upper body turn cold with surprise as what must be the man’s foot brushes against his, then up his leg a little. He freezes a little, feeling light-headed.

                “Uh,” he manages. “I didn’t mean.” He gestures to himself. “I’m in the Air Force.” Nicholas’s dark eyes glimmer at him.

                “So what?” he says, voice low.

                “I’m not, you know,” he isn’t sure what to say. Nicholas just smiles a little.

                “I’m not gay either,” he says. “There are lots of things to be besides gay and straight, you know.” Young doesn’t know this, actually, but he files it away to think about later. “And you’re the one who came over to me.” He rubs his leg up against Young’s again, and if he doesn’t think about it being gay necessarily, it’s kind of hot, like when a girl does it.

                “I don’t remember,” he confesses.

                “Tequila.”

                “Um, apparently.”

                “Well,” Nicholas says, turning his glass around in his hands. “You can walk outside with me, or you can leave alone. If you walk out with me, we can kiss and you can see if you like that.” Young finishes his water, then the whiskey. Nicholas has dark eyes, just like Gabriela did, and long lashes. What the hell. Nobody will even see.

                “I’ll walk out with you,” he says, and Nicholas smiles. They close their tabs, and when they leave, Nicholas leads him half a block away from the bar, where there are more bars, interspersed with closed shops and cafes. It’s a little darker and quieter, and there’s a little notch in between two buildings, and a bushy tree, that makes a small, enclosed, and private space.

                Now that they’re alone, Young feels his stomach turn nervous. He agreed to do this, and Nicholas’s hands on his shoulders feel pretty good, but it’s weird. He puts his hands on his waist, but it doesn’t feel much different from a girl.

                They kiss.

                This is very different: there’s a rasp of stubble, and mixed with the beer and smoke and whiskey he smells like a man, and it’s definitely a man’s arms coming around him. But Nicholas’s tongue is hot and slow and he does that thing Young loves, where the other person sucks on his lips a little. They break apart a little. He’s actually taller than Nicholas, he realizes: his personality had made him seem huge in the bar, but Young can look down at him a little.

                “Thoughts?” he asks, voice shivery and appreciative. Young realizes that he’s hard inside his pants. He almost freaks out, but doesn’t.

                “It’s working for me, I guess,” he admits, and Rush moves a hand to his hip, not moving, just holding on there. He waits, and Young tilts their heads together again. Yeah, it’s working for him, the roughness under his lips, the bony hardness of Nicholas’s chest and shoulders, the slick heat of his tongue against Young’s.

                He presses forward unthinkingly, brushing his erection against Nicholas’s stomach, and the feeling of the other man’s hard-on pressing against his leg makes his head spin. It’s just as good as touching a girl and knowing she was wet because of what he did. He’s turning Nicholas on, and it turns him on. He moans into the kiss and tightens his hands on Nicholas’s hips, grinds into him a little. The other man grunts in response, shifting his hands, opening the fly on Young’s jeans and reaching into his boxers for his dick.

                Nicholas jerks him off and kisses him at the same time, laughing into his mouth while Young groans and tries to kiss back. His orgasm hits him like a full-body tackle, and he knocks his head against the stucco wall of the building he’s pressed against, a low moan he can’t control slipping out of his mouth. Nicholas gives him another kiss, and lifts his come-soiled hand to his mouth, sucking it off his fingers without flinching. It’s disgusting, but it’s hot too, and Young watches him lick his fingers off with a boiling arousal in his gut that his dick isn’t quite ready to respond to yet.

                He undoes Nicholas’s belt and the fly of his jeans, gets hold of his dick, and watches his face while he pumps his hand. It goes loose, eyes hazy and mouth slack, and his hips thrust up against Young’s hand. He rubs his thumb over the slick head of his dick, runs his nail around the edge, and grips him a little harder. Nicholas makes a guttural noise in the back of his throat and curses. Young moves his hand faster, watches Nicholas close his eyes and grit his teeth together.

                He curses again when he comes, and Young can’t quite bring himself to lick off the mess on his hand, so he wipes it off on the branches behind him instead. Nicholas kisses him again, and he can taste his own semen on his tongue.

                “Come back with me,” Nicholas says, cupping his face. “Get laid for real.” Young can’t quite respond to that at the moment, blinking. “I’ll let you fuck me,” he continues, “or I’ll fuck you, either way it’ll be good.”

                “I’ve never had sex with a guy before,” Young says, trying to straighten his head out. It’s kind of hot, having someone just offer like that, say it without preamble. Nicholas snorts.

                “You’re halfway there,” he points out, and puts his hand on Young’s dick again. It feels warm and rough and good.

                By the time they get back to Nicholas’s little house, he’s a great deal more sober than he was before. He keeps expecting to come back to himself, change his mind, but all that happens as he lets Nicholas take his shirt off is that the fire of lust in his belly increases. Nicholas makes an appreciative noise when Young finishes stripping, takes off his own clothes without a hint of self-consciousness, and pulls them down to lie on the twin bed.

                Nicholas has condoms and lube, and shows him what to do, and Young is two fingers deep in him, tongue in his mouth, within five minutes of touching an uncertain fingertip to his ass. Nicholas grinds against him, kissing his jaw.

                “Don’t wait around, Everett,” he says. Young, worried through the haze of lust about hurting him, adds another finger slowly. Nicholas moans as he does so, arching his back and sucking on Young’s tongue. Young moves his fingers a touch faster, the unfamiliar feeling of Nicholas’s muscles stretching around them. “Christ, there, you’ve got the hang of it.” He settles back onto the bed, body relaxing, and Young can suddenly hardly see through his arousal, rolling on a condom and adding more lube and climbing over Nicholas.

                The unfamiliar tight heat around his dick makes his head spin as he pushes in, but Nicholas just pushes his hips back and then Young is deep in him and trembling as he tries not to thrust.

                “Fuck, that feels amazing,” he grits out, and runs a hand cautiously down the ridge of Nicholas’s spine. “You’re—oh God.” He always feels like this during sex, like he’s too full to speak, too gifted to articulate his thanks through the sensation of being _inside_ someone else.

                “Come on, fuck me,” Nicholas says, a challenge in his voice, and Young thrusts forward, leaning over him, pressing his lips to the back of Nicholas’s neck. It’s a slick and slow slide as he thrusts, and he ends up biting and groaning into Nicholas’s neck as he finishes, thrusting harder and faster than he meant to. Nicholas just rolls his shoulders and moans like he likes it, and after Young comes and pulls out and wraps the messy condom in a tissue, he rolls onto his back, hard again.

                If he’s going to do this, he might as well do it. He gets another condom, just in case, and gets more than half of Nicholas’s dick into his mouth before he feels choked. It tastes horrible with the condom, and he feels guilty over every blowjob he’s ever gotten, because he has to finish with his hand lest he throw up the copious amount of alcohol in his stomach.

                He uses the bathroom and considers staying—Nicholas brushed a hand over his shoulder and said it didn’t matter to him either way, if he wanted to stay, he could—then discards the idea. No one saw him come in here and no one will see him leave if he goes at one thirty in the morning. He dresses, while Nicholas lies on the bed and gives him an occasional dirty grin.

                “Good luck,” he says, as Young puts his shoes back on. “With the Air Force.” Young nods, feeling simultaneously good from his orgasms and shitty as the hangover starts to creep into his leftover buzz.

                “Good luck with, uh, finding a real job,” he replies, and leaves.

                He tells David he hardly remembers who he went back with, when they meet up later on Saturday. David just grins, says the blonde he’d gone home with was extremely sweet, licks his lips for emphasis, and doesn’t ask for details.

**2009:**

                Young’s senior scientist is Dr. Nicholas Rush, from UC Berkeley. His file has a long list of awards and qualifications, of which Young recognizes less than half. But he’s the guy who’s worked out more than half the address Daniel Jackson found, and so his recruitment and promotion to the Icarus project was swift. His file lists him as recently widowed, childless. His psych eval is suspiciously even. Young shuts the file, glances at the clock in the conference room. Camile Wray is watching him, her expression calm.

                Rush enters the room five minutes late, doesn’t apologize, and shakes their hands. He’s got longish hair and dark eyes, and something about him is strangely familiar to Young.

                “Nice to meet you,” he says to them both, and his accent snaps Young’s concentration in half. He remembers, with sudden clarity, kissing Nicholas Rush outside a bar, fucking him in the narrow bed of his rundown house. It disorients him, and Camile gives him an odd look.

                “Let’s get started,” he says, and Dr. Rush gives him a curious look, as if something is prickling in the back of his mind as well. Young looks quite a bit different than he did at twenty two, so he figures they have the whole meeting to get through before he realizes, if he ever does.

**Author's Note:**

> It's moderately probable that Rush could have been doing a postdoc in Austin at the same time that Young was at AETC. Anyway, I wanted to write it.


End file.
